


James Bond

by elldotsee



Series: Anniversary Ficlets 2020 [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bond Night, Domesticity, M/M, can we blame him?, john waxes poetic about sherlock's kaleidoscope eyes, smouldering eye contact, so cosy, that should practically be a character.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elldotsee/pseuds/elldotsee
Summary: Taken directly from John's blog:Where have I heard that phrase before? Diamonds are forever?Sherlock Holmes 23 March 17:08James Bond. You have heard of James Bond?John Watson 23 March 18:02I've heard of him, yes.Sherlock Holmes 23 March 18:04You haven't seen one, have you? Right, we're having a Bond night.John Watson 23 March 18:06It's nice to have something to look forward to.Sherlock Holmes 23 March 18:09
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: Anniversary Ficlets 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807645
Comments: 34
Kudos: 53
Collections: 10 Years of Sherlock





	James Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so in other words... it's BOND NIGHT BITCHES! ;-) 
> 
> Day four and I am having a great time. Thanks for joining me!

John strode down the stairs and bypassed the sitting room, making straight for the kitchen. He rifled through the fridge and collected two cans of beer. In the cupboard, he found a bag of popcorn kernels and set to work with a pan of oil, popping the kernels to mostly fluffy perfection, with only a few burnt bits. Sherlock raised a single eyebrow from his prone position on the sofa when John walked in juggling the bowl of popcorn and the beverages, watching as the snacks were deposited onto the table and John set to work detangling the cords of the telly so he could move it to the centre of the room, as they often did when they wanted to watch something from the sofa, instead of their individual chairs. Once it was all sorted, John grabbed the clicker and dug through the pile of DVDs on the shelf by the door until he found the one he was looking for. He popped it into the player and pressed play. 

Only then did Sherlock sit up from his sprawl. He flapped a hand in the direction of the telly. 

“Oh no. Was hoping you forgot.” 

John flashed him a sunny grin as he settled opposite on the sofa and cracked open one of the beers. 

“‘Course not. Budge over. There’s a beer for you and popcorn. It’s time for your education. We’ll start with a classic.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but scooted to the far end of the cushion, accepting the cold can from John’s outstretched hand. To John’s utter surprise, he didn’t even scoff at the plebian nature of drinking beer from an aluminium can. 

“Pierce Brosnan is the best Bond. Undebatable. This was his debut.” 

The opening scene began and Sherlock popped open his own drink, taking a long swallow with his eyes fixed on the screen. John chuckled at the look of apprehension plastered all over his friend’s face. Sherlock’s eyes slid sideways and his mouth twisted into a deeper frown. 

“What? I’m watching.” 

“Yes. Good. Good.” 

“Good hair”, Sherlock commented a few moments later, as PIerce’s dark wavy coif ruffled in the breeze, just as he tipped forward and base jumped off a bridge. John hummed his agreement. 

The movie launched nearly immediately into an action-sequence, all exciting explosions and dastardly Russian villains and Bond in all his suave glory, escaping by the skin of his teeth. John grinned and settled back against the cushions, watching Sherlock watch the screen. He was already enraptured, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his eyes wide in disbelief. 

Bond dove from the mountain just as the Russian base exploded behind him in a fiery blaze, catching up to a pilotless plane and jiggling the controls in such a way as to make the craft level out and fly perfectly straight, mere seconds before crashing into the valley below.

“That’s not how physics work! The rate of acceleration of the falling plane would be far greater than that of a human, especially taking into consideration the delay in which he jumped after the plane had passed!” 

The two men watched in silence, John nostalgic and Sherlock scoffing to himself, through a reckless car chase, complete with gorgeous women, both in the passenger seat of Bond’s car, and as the other driver. John took a swallow of his beer. It was growing warm already. 

“Does that— no way would that work!” Sherlock’s brow furrowed as Bond easily seduced women left and right on screen. He looked so utterly perplexed that John nearly laughed, but caught himself just in time because for the quickest second Sherlock looked young, completely out of his element. “Is that… is that all it takes, John? A dangerous situation, some champagne, a fast car?” In a blink, he was back to himself, the vulnerability that had been so obvious a moment before slipping into his usual teasing smirk. “Is that how you woo them, John?” 

This was tiptoeing into dangerous territory, but John couldn’t seem to stop the momentum, now that it had begun. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sherlock as he spoke, though he pretended to be watching the screen. He made sure to match his voice to the teasing lightness of Sherlock’s. 

“Hmm… defying death, chasing adrenaline, plenty of sass. Dinner. Drinks. Fl—” He stopped abruptly, feigning a cough and taking a swig of his beer. He’d very nearly said ‘flirting’. This was getting dangerous. With his mouth set in a straight line, he faced the movie again. “Sorry. Choked a bit. Fast cars. Yes. I think that’s the secret.” 

Sherlock didn’t say anything else for a long while after that, eventually standing up to collect his laptop from the desk and bringing both of their empty cans into the kitchen. It may have been John’s imagination, but when he returned, it seemed as though he settled his long frame back onto the sofa cushion just a bit closer to the centre. His long fingers reached into the popcorn bowl and John watched out of the corner of his eye as he popped a handful into his mouth, chewing with his eyes fixed on the screen. 

They watched most of the rest of the movie in near-silence, with Sherlock making a few quips about the impossible nature of the stunts. At one point, he disappeared behind his laptop screen for several moments and John sighed inwardly, disappointed, but trying to feel content that he’d at least got Sherlock to watch nearly half of a film with him. But then John heard Sherlock mutter something under his breath and his interest was piqued. 

Shifting the now-empty bowl of popcorn to the floor, he slid into the middle of the sofa, peeking over at Sherlock’s laptop. 

“Dame Judi Dench? Yeah, she’s M, which was kind of a big deal because she was the first female M.”

Sherlock hummed, skimming down the wiki page at breakneck speed, the words practically blurring on the page. He stopped at the filmography section, a smug grin blooming on his features. 

“Aha! I knew I recognised her!” 

“Judi Dench?? Yeah, of course, she’s been in like every film and theatre —” 

Sherlock jabbed his finger at the screen. 

“She was Armande! The quirky woman in Chocolat. Caroline’s mother.”   


John turned his head fully to face Sherlock, aware that he was invading his personal space in a way that would be very uncomfortable with anyone else, but somehow felt perfectly normal now with Sherlock. His expression was smug as he continued reading, but for a soft smile playing across his full lips. 

“You—you’ve seen Chocolat? As in the French film. With the… chocolate. And the woman.” 

Sherlock looked bemused, his gaze sliding off the screen to meet John’s. As always, his eyes were intense, sharp. John had only seen them this close once or twice. They were a fascinating kaleidoscope. 

“Oui. Of course I’ve seen it. Haven’t you?” 

His voice was soft and the sound of even that single French word on Sherlock’s lips stirred something in John’s gut. He drew in a breath and scooted backwards on the couch, out of no-man’s-land and back to the safety of the far cushion. 

“I— ahem. No. No I haven’t. Didn’t really think it was my thing. That sort of, that sort of thing.” 

A quirked eyebrow, still bemused. 

“That sort of thing? Foreign films?” 

“Yeah. I guess. I didn’t do very well in my French class. Would have to have it subtitled.”

Sherlock hummed again, looking thoughtful. 

“Well, perhaps that can be our next movie night, then. From Brosnan to Binoche.” 

John nodded, feeling warm and content as he settled back against the cushions to finish the film. Admittedly, he had trouble concentrating on the final scenes, as his thoughts kept returning to the idea of another night spent with his… flatmate in just this way. It was… good. Very good. 


End file.
